Mistakes Beget Pain
by Bright Silver Lady of Midnight
Summary: Regret and sorrow aren't two things Nike deals with on a regular basis, but pain she can handle. A mother's love for her child can move mountains; can drown out seas. But it can't change the will of the gods. Winner of round 1 of POW12's contest. One shot


The sky was a murky gray color, as it was raining out. The temperature was unnecessarily cold, even though it was a freezing January morning. In their trees, birds chirped, but no dryads could be found running barefoot through the grass. The satyrs were absent from this place, anyway, so there would be nothing to run _from. _

Inside a small Pennsylvania apartment in a shoddy part of Philadelphia, a fourteen-year-old girl sat alone in a worn beanbag chair, nearly frozen. Her appearance was nothing to behold; she had common, stringy mud-brown hair and brown eyes and despite her athletic body, she wasn't something special at a particular sport. From her ripped, black Hurley sweatpants (made for boys, but who cares?) and blue _Diston Softball _tee shirt, it was evident to see she'd just rolled out of the unmade bed. The dampair around her was going to make her wallpaper peel even further, not that she cared.

She banged her head slightly to the music she was listening to, staring out at the dismal day and holding her thoughts close to her. She knew she'd lost her grip on the world; she just couldn't loose it on herself, but, she found, the longer she stayed cooped up in her own thoughts, she was beginning to loose it more. Shadowsdanced across the dimly lit room, the only source of light the candle in her hand that didn't give off nearly enough warmth. She knew she ought to get a blanket; there was a perfectly good one on her bed, but she couldn't bring herself to care enough about the goosebumps on her arms.

And then, in that moldy room, she was no longer alone. She saw a blinding gold light, but even squinting and holding her hand up to her eyes did nothing for the sudden intake of light on her pupils. When it dimmed, she clenched her hands into fists and pressed them up to her eyes. The presence of an immortalwas one she wasn't likely to forget any time soon; her self-confidence took a stronger hit each time, until she could only sigh internally at the radiant youth in front of her.

"Ever heard of knocking?" the teenager asked nonchalantly, pulling her headphonesout of her ears and letting them drop into her lap. Music that sounded like Ozzy could still be heard.

"Your hospitality is astounding, even to a goddess such as myself, who's used to such pleasantries," Nike said dryly, "but, if it's really that important to you, I'll go out and knock," she finished, her hand on the doorknob_._

"No, no; don't bother. You're already in here," the teenage mortal sighed

"I see. Well, I just came to check up on you," Nike said

She seemed to contemplate this before answering, but finally said, "To sum it all up, I'd like nothing more to jump in the Lethe and start over."

"You can't think like that," the goddess scolded, "that just means you're _giving up_!"

"Maybe I'm tired of fighting," the girl said, "maybe I just wish-"

"Don't," Nike interrupted, "you're the daughter of the goddess of victory. You can't give up. Especially when...."

"The order from Olympus came back, didn't it?" she asked softly, her eyes suddenly far away. She folded her lithe body over on itself.

She took her mother's silence as a yes. Nike opened her mouth to console her daughter, but she spoke first, suddenly far away, "It came back... I know what's going to happen to me. They're going to make me live forever with myself in the deepest pits in hell."

There was no telling her daughter that hell wasn't real at this point; she was ducking back into her Catholic heritage as a protective shield against reality. It was easier for her, but in the deepest corner of her subconscious, she knew she'd disappointed her mother in her willingness to accept her fate. She began to recite the Apostle's Creed as her mother took her by the arm and teleported her to the throne room of Olympus. Zeus would read her punishment there. Apparently, it was considered a right.

"I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth," the teenager said as Nike looked up helplessly at Zeus for help

He shook his head at her, and began reading from a scroll, "Catherine Lovell, daughter of Nike, you have been convicted of treason against the gods."

"I believe in Jesus Christ, God's only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried; he descended to the dead," Catherine Lovell, daughter of Nike, said in a small voice as Zeus waited for a pause, hopefully for her to deny this.

When she neither confirmed nor denied, he continued, "As punishment for this blasphemous act, you will be boiled in oil for all of eternity..." he waited for any sign of shock, but she still kept muttering to herself.

If the king of the gods strained a bit, he could hear her saying "On the third day he rose again; he ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again to judge the living and the dead...."

"Catherine Lovell, daughter of Nike, have you any last words?"

"I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy Catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. Amen."

Nike wasn't a goddess in the moment she watched her daughter being forced into the Fields of Punishment. She was a mother. As a mother, powerless to do anything but watch, she felt her heart rip just a bit more with each step her daughter was lead away from her, until there was a festering, bleeding hole where her heart once was.

She could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on her, waiting to see her break, waiting for the cracks in the seemingly perfect mold to break through. But all Nike could do was stand there and watch with agony each step her daughter took, now chanting the Our Father. Nike could only stand there and wonder if it was bad that her daughter wouldn't be lucid for the rest of eternity, or that if it was worse that she wouldn't know that her mother loved her.

It was so strange to Nike sometimes, the love a parent has for her child. Nike touched that point in her chest, the point where there was only a gap, instead of a rib. Yes, how far a mother would go for her child surprised even she, a mother, sometimes. It was strange to think that, though her daughter was half-divine, she made so many mistakes. It was strange to think that Nike could go on living after this. Meet men, have other children. But no matter what, she couldn't forget Catherine Lovell even if she tried. She pushed down on the space where her rib should be. No, she hadn't dreamed of Catherine Lovell. Nike pushed a little harder, just to be sure.

_-xXx-_

Just so you know, the rib thing is from the Old Testament. It is says God made man from His rib. Make what comparisons to the story as you will, but I will say this; everything has a reason. Like a Steinbeck novel, but hopefully not that crappy.

So, that was my entry for PowerofWords12's contest. The objective was to use ten of the words off of a list, PMed to all of the contestants by PowerofWords12. Here are the words I used: raining, frozen, damp, shadows, warmth, blanket, blinding, immortal, radiant, headphones, doorknob, and lithe.


End file.
